FrUk Love Triumphs
by A-Mae-100
Summary: France has loved England for as long as he could remember, even if Britain hates his guts...but Britain is not so sure that he really hates the French man after all. *OLD STORY*
1. Chapter 1: A talk over wine

**_*THIS FIC IS OLD AS FUCKING DIRT AND I'M SO SORRY THAT MY STUPID YOUNG SELF KNEW NOTHING ABOUT ALCOHOL*_**

Hey, Guys! A-mae-100 reporting for...whatever the hell you call this...fanfiction duties...? Translations for the french are at the end of the story!

FrUk is one of my favorite Yaoi pairings..because France and Britain are both so gorgeous

P.S: There will be 3 chapters, so this isn't the end! On hon hon hon...

* * *

It was a meeting just like any other. America wouldn't stop running is mouth, China sat respectful and silent, Russia was eerily quiet, and England was hot-headed and temperamental as usual; the only exception was France.

Instead of being his normal energetic and romantic self, France was unusually calm and said not a word, responding to any questions with a nod or a shake of his head. No one was particularly worried, but England was almost annoyed at the country's behavior. Since most of England's contributions to the meetings sparked off of disagreements with France, England had absolutely nothing to say, for there was nothing to argue with. He found it humiliating that as he listened to each country ramble on and on, all he could do was sit there foolishly.

And so, with two countries not contributing to the conversations, when the meeting had finally drawn to a close, the topics were so narrow and unresolved that every country stood up to leave feeling very confused.

England, the usual last one to leave, was just gathering his things and putting on his formal coat when he noticed France out of the corner of his eye. To Britain's surprise and annoyance, the French man was still seated without a word, staring down at his half-full wine glass.

"If you're going to continue to sit there, then I won't stop you…but you're going to be quite lonely," England cleared his throat and fixed his tie, glancing over at Francis. When France still said nothing, Arthur snorted and pushed in his chair, turning to leave. "A goodbye would have been appropriate…" he grumbled, stopping abruptly when he heard the other speak up.

"Britain…"

"Ah! So the frog finally speaks!" Arthur laughed and turned around on his back foot, folding his arms and looking into France's blue eyes. "Now go on and spit it out Francis…I don't have all of the bloody day to waste."

"So…So Britain…Life is hard for me back home…"

"Life is hard for all of us during this war." England interrupted, narrowing his eyes as he had already anticipated what France was suggesting.

"Yes, I realize that, but…Arthur, what I'm asking for isn't all that much…just a little help..a donation if you will…"

"And why would I help you? You wine-guzzling fool…! We've already had this discussion, so get a grip and run your own bloody country!"

"But, Britain..!" France pleaded, rising to his feet and taking a hesitant step forward.

"My answer is, and will forever be no!" Britain slammed his fists down on the large table, causing silverware and glasses that rested on its surface to tremble and nearly clatter to the floor.

In one cool and calm move, Francis swiftly steadied his wine glass that had rested precariously near the edge of the table, and then raised it and brought it to his lips, his eyes suddenly devoid of all sadness or helplessness. "_Mon ami…_You have become much too stressed over the years…Sit down with me and we'll talk over a few glasses of wine like we used to, old friend…"

"Don't try and change my mind, frog…!" England hissed, gritting his teeth when France took a hearty sip from his glass, drawing his tongue over his lips.

"Non, non…I'm not trying to persuade you at all, my friend…this is just to wind down a bit. You and I could both use a bit of relaxation, no?" The French man then laughed and poured another glass of wine in a new goblet, presenting it to Britain.

"Damn it all, France!" Arthur growled, glaring into the blue eyes of the other country, who had risen to his feet and gently waved the shining glass of wine in front of Britain's face.

Francis took another step closer, enticing England with the crisp scent of the wine. "Oh, be rational_…" _He almost purred, "Have a seat and drink a glass with me, you'll be happy you did…"

With a grumble and a huff of slight protest, Arthur finally gave in. "Bah …fine! But do not think that this changes anything…" he mumbled as he sat down grumpily in the seat next to France, snatching the wineglass out of his hand and taking a quick sip. The wine was rather bitter, but was better than what England was used to. After all, he had never really cared for any wine that he had tried from France, but this taste was wonderful and different, however, he refused to admit that to his enemy.

"Your wine tastes as awful as always, Francis." England lied, taking another large sip despite his attempt to stifle his craving for more.

"Ahh..but your actions do not agree with you, Arthur…" the French man laughed softly and refilled England's' quickly emptied glass. "Now tell me, _mon chére…_has anything been…troubling you…?"

"Me…? Now why would anything be troubling me? I'm as good as I've ever been, you nosy Frenchie…why the hell do you care, anyway?" England stifled a hiccup, a painful reminder that he wasn't the most alcohol-tolerant.

"_Absurdité…_ Even before a drink or two, you are not the best liar, Arthur…" Francis sipped at his drink slowly and elegantly, resting his other hand on the table, "Now tell me what has made you so tense, my friend…"

The British man traced his finger around the rim of the wineglass, sighing nervously and taking another large swallow of his drink. "Nothing is really bothering me…in particular…" he whispered half-heartedly, and in return, France chuckled.

"Go on and make your troubles heard, friend…After all, we are all going through a bit of bad luck, are we not?"

Although he hardly ever agreed with France on anything, Arthur had to nod at this, for it was very true. It was hard enough to sustain equilibrium between war and the wellbeing of his country, but his own sanity was an entirely different matter. Even if he hated to do so, England admitted to himself that what France said was true; he had become a dense shell of his former self. "It's very frustrating…dealing with my own wellness as well as my country's…"

"Yes_…_I know what you mean…" Francis chimed in, offering England a cloth which he then used to wipe the stray droplets of wine off his lip. "Even _moi_, the gorgeous France, has problems with these sorts of things…" he sighed, peering down the table at the chalkboard, littered with strategic drawings and plans drawn in white. "Times are tough…but that is why we all stay together…you'll find peace in togetherness, as they say…"

"You believe that malarkey?" England hiccupped and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, looking over at France with a mocking smile.

"_Oui, _I do._"_

"When has peace ever been accomplished through being together…? Just look at us, Francis…How many times have we met as allies…quite a few, I'd say… and yet we still continue to argue with one another..." As the alcohol began to set in, Arthur's words became slurred and slow, his green eyes cloudy in a drunken stupor.

His reactions became delayed and confused, which may explain why at first he did not react when he felt a pair of lips brush against his neck.

All England could muster was a shocked yelp before his lips were smothered by France's, who's hands had begun to move lower than Britain cared for them to go.

"Love, _mon chére…_Love is the togetherness that brings peace…." France whispered hotly into Britain's ear, and then lightly kissed the nape of his neck, his facial hair brushing England's skin and making him shiver.

"W-What the hell…? Get off of me, you…you…!" the blushing man sputtered, fighting as effectively as he could to pry France's searching hands off of him.

When the effects of the alcohol proved too much of a setback for England to fight back, he began to reach out for something to use; a phone, a heavy object, it didn't matter, all he needed was something to save himself with. The first thing that he touched he grasped, and that object just happened to be a wine glass, full to the brim. The green-eyed man splashed the entire fill of the glass into France's face, staining the blonde's beautiful uniform coat a deep red.

Francis released his grasp long enough for the other country to slip out of his grip and onto the ground, trembling. "H-How dare you…!" Britain gasped, attempting to rise to his feet as he backed up against the wall. In his drunken state, his legs refused to stand straight, and France was right next to him before he could even pull himself onto his feet. "Stay away from me, you frog..! Pervert!" He yelled, throwing his hands up defensively. To his surprise, Francis did not take another step further, but instead offered a hand to help Arthur to his feet.

"I apologize," he murmured, using his other hand to brush his dripping hair from his eyes, "That was not very appropriate of me."

"I would agree, sir!" The British man growled, forcing himself to his feet without the other's aid, "Good day to you!" He cleared his throat with a huff of annoyance and dusted off his clothing, staggering out of the room while fighting to escape the tempting sensation of the French man who smelled of wine and his enchanting kisses.

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Translations:

_Oui = Yes_

_Mon chére = My dear_

_Mon ami = My friend  
_


	2. Chapter 2: Memories

_***THIS FIC IS VERY OLD AND I AM ASHAMED***_

Chapter 2~! Translations for French at end of story!

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As England lie in his small hotel bed, he found it impossible to fall asleep. He tossed and he turned, kicking off his blankets when he was too hot, and then he would suddenly become cold and pull them back up again, shivering.

His head wouldn't stop spinning, so at first he was convinced that he was ill. However, he had no fever, although he felt abnormally warm. For hours he lay awake, confused and frustrated until a blotch of red caught his attention in the corner of his eye. He sat up and squinted at it until he realized, it was a rose.

It seemed lonely but beautiful in its own tall, thin vase, glowing scarlet even in the night, reminding England immediately of France. He touched his neck where the man had kissed him and shivered as he remembered the thrill. He had to admit that it wasn't at all bad, just shocking. Britain wasn't sure how to react at the time, but in a way he really did enjoy it, and the more he thought about it, the more he craved it.

So, although every prideful fiber in him told him to fall asleep and ignore it, Arthur stood slowly and made his way towards the lone flower. He lightly brushed its petals with his fingers before taking it his hand and holding it close to his face. Its sweet aroma reminded him immediately of Francis, and as England slowly brought the flower to his lips, the other country's words overcame him.

"_Love…love is the togetherness that brings peace…"_

_Perhaps he is right…._England thought reluctantly, _Is this why I've been so miserable all these years…? _He vaguely recalled a day when the two of them were younger…a day that he tried so hard to forget.

It was a remarkably beautiful spring day, and the sun shined in the sky while a gentle breeze swept over the grass. These were the types of days that England loved, so that he could be at peace with himself and the world. Life was maddening at times, so the moments that he could escape were the ones he cherished the most.

These were also the types of days that France enjoyed, and so, because of their mutual love of the sunshine, these were the days that they would often spend together.

"It is beautiful, is it not?" a younger France asked with a smile, taking a seat on the plush, green grass.

"I guess so." England muttered back, taking a seat next to his friend and resting his face in his hands.

"Why so down, _mon ami? _ There is much to be happy about!" the blonde man laughed and lied down on the ground, looking over at Britain with a happy smile. "You probably just ate too much of that rotten food of yours."

"Shut up, you damned wanker!" England pouted and knocked France on the head with a fist, but the French man only laughed again. "Have you lost your wits? The world ends this year, remember? You were the one who was so worked up over it…so how are you so calm now?"

"Ahhh…that again…" Francis shrugged and looked up at Britain from his spot on the ground. "I guess you could say that I've accepted it."

"Accepted it? You can't just admit defeat in the presence of something like this! Is that all you Frenchies know how to do…surrender?"

"Hush now, Arthur… why must we fight all the time…? If the world is indeed coming to an end…how about we just relax and enjoy each other's company…"

"Hah! As if anyone could enjoy being with a person like you!" England scoffed, folding his arms, making his anxiousness nearly palpable in the air.

France frowned, even though he was used to the curt remarks. "What's bothering you, Arthur? You seem down…or…more down that usual, rather."

"Nothing is wrong, frog face!" the other country replied almost too quickly, jumping when he felt a hand on his shoulder. France had sat up and was staring into Britain's green eyes with obvious worry, and to his surprise, Arthur didn't shrug him off.

"...I'm worried…just a little bit, that's all…" he whispered softly with a sigh.

"You are worried more than a little bit, friend…"

"…France, what if I died tomorrow? I don't want to die yet! There's so much I haven't done…!" England burst out suddenly, grabbing onto France's blue jacket and shaking him vigorously. "What am I to do? I can't live like this!"

Francis just sat there in shock for a moment, for he had never seen Britain act so helpless. He smiled with pity, resting a hand on the smaller country's head, murmuring, "It is not healthy to worry so much over something you can't control, my dear… It shall happen to all of us in the end…"

"Then how do you live with it…? How can you just keep on living the way you do?" Arthur shrieked, glaring at France in an attempt to hide his incoming tears.

"Oh, _mon chére…_This is the difference between you and me…" when England opened his mouth to argue in his defense, Francis pressed a finger to his lips and whispered in his ear, "…My eyes have been opened and can see the beauty and love in everything…maybe it's time you opened your eyes as well."

England felt himself blush at the sensation of the other country caressing his lips, but the warmth made him feel slightly comforted. Arthur smiled and relaxed, keeping still even when France brought his arms around him and pulled him into a tight, friendly hug.

France whispered softly, letting England's head rest on his shoulder. "Learn to love a little, dearest…because you know what…?"

"…what…?"

Francis rested a hand on England's heart and smiled, "…You're beautiful, inside and out."

England cut off his memory abruptly, the stunning spring atmosphere fading from his mind as he forced himself back to reality. He cursed at himself for giving in to his foolish memories, tossing the rose in his hands to the ground.

"D-Damn it..!" he hissed aloud, falling to the ground in front of the discarded flower, glaring down at it in disgust. In his anger he ripped the petals from the bud, one by one, until the rose was a sad, naked mess of stem with its soft petals lying on the ground.

"_France sent this to my room…He's trying to trick me…! That bastard..!" _he thought with revulsion as he picked up each petal, counting them as a habit and dropping them carelessly in the trash.

He rose to his feet and began to pace the room, fighting away the blurry tears that brimmed in his green eyes. In frustration he slammed his fist on the wall, a curse from his neighbor, Russia, soon following.

"If you cannot keep your insane fits to yourself, Sir Britain…I have means of keeping you quiet!" he snapped in a rare display of his terrible temper, returning a slam on the wall to Britain before returning to his bed.

England believed him of course, Ivan scared him even when he wasn't angered, so the British man took that as advice that he should probably leave the quiet of the hotel if he wanted to avoid bothering anyone with his expression of aggravation.

He (quietly this time) walked to the door of his room where his coat hung, and he reached inside the pockets to search for money to buy himself a cab and a drink. He felt paper and pulled out what he thought was American dollars, but was surprised to see that what he held was instead a folded slip of white paper. Confused, Arthur unfolded the parchment and squinted in the dark, and once he was able to make out the light, cursive words, he couldn't stop the tears that rolled down his face.

"_Mon chére…._

_You are still beautiful."_

* * *

_TRANSLATIONS: _

_Mon ami = My friend_

_Oui = Yes_

_Mon chere = My dear  
_


	3. Chapter 3: Another Beautiful Day

_***BLESS YOUR SOUL FOR MAKING IT THIS FAR.***_

This is the last chapter! Enjoy!

Translations for French at the end!

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The next morning England awoke to the sound of his alarm clock, buzzing loudly into his ears. With a quick glance at the clock, he cursed under his breath and noted that the time was already half past ten, which meant that the meeting started in a few short minutes. He jumped out of his bed and looked around his closet for a clean suit, slipping it on quickly and taking a quick glance in the mirror at his appearance.

No matter what France thought of him, England didn't think much of the way he looked. He felt bland and boring, lacking the style that so many other countries had. He had forever been jealous of France's natural flawless looks, and this morning was no different.

"_I can't go out looking so plain…! Not after what France said…"_ He searched desperately for something to make him look more appealing…there was that new tie…or maybe his better jacket…or perhaps even that rose…

Wait…a rose..? Arthur stopped in his tracks and blinked, rubbing his eyes as he stared at another beautiful red rose, positioned perfectly in the same tall vase. He eyed the flower and took it into his hands curiously, looking around for a person who could have put it there. Much to his dismay, there was no time for investigations, so in a hurry, he brought the rose out of the room with him, planning to tuck it into his shirt pocket when he had the time.

After rushing all the way down to the meeting room, England was surprised to find no one present, but also quite a bit delighted that he was once again the first one there. He cleared his throat and set the rose down neatly on the table and walked up to the once again blank chalkboard, taking a piece of white chalk in his hand.

With a shrug he began to draw the faces of each of the Axis nations, but just as he had finished drawing the first country, he felt something bring him to a stop. He shivered with the feeling of being watched, slowly and hesitantly turning around to confirm his suspicions. He nearly jumped when he saw France standing behind him, blue eyes sparkling and his face as bright and stunning as always.

"…D-Don't do that, Francis! You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!" England gripped on his shirt as if trying to stop his rapidly beating heart from leaping right out of his chest.

"_Bonjour, _Britain…Sorry to surprise you." France's deep blue eyes tugged on England's heart, melting him from the inside out. "I came to tell you…the meeting has been cancelled for today. It is Sunday…and God would frown upon us if we were to talk of such gruesome things on this, the day of rest…"

"O-Oh…Well then…I suppose I should be resting then…" Arthur replied stupidly, for he could think of no other words to say. The two countries just gazed at each other for a while in a long, drawn out silence until France finally cleared his throat and turned to face the other side of the room, walking towards the window covered in ruby red drapes.

"_C'est une belle journée a dehors…non?" _Francis breathed, smiling back at Britain before slowly releasing the curtains, revealing an enthralling blue sky and rolling green hills, dotted for miles with trees and flowers. "Do you remember those days that we used to spend admiring the world at its finest? _Je m'ennuie de ces jours…"_

Arthur understood enough French for this to make him sigh, and agree, "O-_Oui, _Francis…I miss those days as well…" A familiar redness began to creep up his face, and he cleared his throat, turning away from the window. "…But those days are long over, as you know…Things are different now…"

"…Yes, I know that much, old friend…" The blue eyed man whispered in return, resting a hand on the window as if trying to touch the breathtaking landscape. "I just wish that you had followed my advice from that day…" England was so wrapped up in memories and guilt that he didn't notice the French man behind him until he felt his breath hot in his ear. "Love is more powerful than you understand, my dear _…_although I cannot force you to comprehend its majesty. You must find it for yourself…"

With no other way to defend himself, England resorted to anger, whipping around and hissing at France, "And you think you know so much about love…tell me, what does love mean, you frog! If you know so much, then explain to me!"

Without a word, Francis pulled up his long sleeve to his shoulder, displaying an arm horribly ravaged with scars. England couldn't hold back a quick and quiet gasp at the sight of the man who he once thought flawless now covered in angry pink marks. "Francis…! …was this from…?" he croaked, hesitantly running a finger over a scar that traced the entire man's arm from shoulder to wrist.

The French man flinched and sighed, a slight smile brought to his lips. "_Oui…_This scar is from you…we have had many battles against one another…Most of these were as a result of our conflicts…" France pulled his sleeve back down over his arm, buttoning the cuffs back and staring into Britain's eyes. "I have shown you this so that you know….That even after the horrible trials we have put each other through… _Je t'aime…"_

The Englishman stood there speechless as the words sunk in, staring down at his feet guiltily as France turned to leave. "F-Francis...wait!" he cried out, snatching up the rose from the table before grabbing the other man's shoulder.

"_Oui, _England? Have you something to say to me?" Francis turned back to face England, and nearly gasped aloud in surprise when a rose was brought to his face.

"Here! Just…just take it, you frog..!" he muttered with forced irritation, looking down to hide his blushing face. When he felt the rose taken from his hand, he sighed with relief, but remained still and silent until he felt two fingers lifting his chin. England felt himself melt completely under the other man's warm gaze, and for once, he did not try to shy away.

"Francis…I.."

"Say nothing more…" the French man purred, brushing the flower's delicate petals over Britain's lips, soon replacing it with his own. All of England's common sense and conscience was whisked away with the kiss, and as if his actions were not his own, he felt his arms slowly rise to wrap themselves around the other man's neck. A tongue traced his lower lip then forced itself inside of his mouth, filling the Englishman with warmth from head to toe. He shivered as he felt Francis' hands lower to his hips, and he only half fought his urge to pull the man closer. "F-Frog…" he growled as he was backed up against the wall, the rose's soft petals now caressing his neck, soon followed by short, sweet kisses.

"Relax, _mon amour…_You've been surrounded by strife for much too long…" France cooed, his blonde hair shining gold in the sunlight.

Britain immediately obeyed, falling victim to his sweet, soothing voice. Well trained hands released the tension in his shoulders and England sighed with the instant relief, sinking down slowly. Francis urged him gently the rest of the way down until both countries were sitting on the ground. Arthur buried his face in France's blue coat, gripping it tightly as France stroked through his hair, and the two exchanged hushed words.

"I'm sorry, Francis…"

"I know, my love."

"I was such a fool…"

"…But I still love you."

"Will you ever forgive me?"

"You're already forgiven."

Their hands intertwined and they both gazed into each other's eyes, laughing.

"Are you crying…? Typical French man…"

"Don't tell me that you just have something in your eyes, Arthur…" Francis chuckled and kissed away the tears that rolled down Britain's face, holding the still sparkling rose in front of their faces, going silent when Britain began to whisper.

"…Francis…"

"_Oui, _dearest…?"

"If I had to die tomorrow…I would die happy."

France grinned and pressed the flower to England's lips, whispering in his ear,

"Our love can conquer even death."

* * *

_TRANSLATIONS: _

_Bonjour = Good morning_

_C'est une belle journée a dehors…non? = It is a beautiful day outside, is it not?_

_Je m'ennuie de ces jours… = I miss those days..._

_Oui = Yes_

_Je t'aime… = I love you_

_Mon chere = My dear _

_Mon ami = My friend_

_Mon amour = My love  
_

_I AM SO SORRY IF I GOT ANY OF THE FRENCH WRONG. I am French so it would be quite a shame if I got these wrong...both because of that fact and because I asked my mother to clarify if these were correct. If I got any words wrong, please tell me so I can correct it then hit my mother with a frying pan. Haha...not really. I love my mom. XD  
_


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